Grey Jacket
by HistoryHound
Summary: McCoy has fallen through the Guardian of Forever, again. But to where? And can the good doctor stay alive long enough for Kirk and Spock to rescue him? Please comment! Oh, and if you can guess where he is before I reveal it, good for you! Complete!
1. Chapter 1

Dr. Leonard H. McCoy let out a cry of shock as he went flying down onto the solid ground. He stumbled to lift himself as he felt the mushy Earth slide underneath his grip. He grunted as he slipped back forward at an attempt to stand. He laid there for a minute, too aggravated to get up. The Chief Medical Officer listened quietly, as still as a mouse when there was a cat lurking nearby. He could make out load booms coming off in the distance. They rung continually in his ears. If he didn't know any better, he'd say it was the 4th of July, but there was an eerie feeling about all of this that sent a shiver down his spine. McCoy closed his eyes, trying to recall his last memory. He, Jim, Spock, and Uhura were studying the Guardian of Forever, trying to gain as much information as possible. "Damn." He muttered quietly to himself. He'd accidentally tripped and fallen through the ancient time portal. He searched his mind to try to remember what time period it had been fixed on, but he couldn't recall it clearly. He fumbled to gain balance on his knees in the mud puddle where he'd landed. He felt the delicate drops of rain trickle down his cheek and drip on his skin. McCoy let out a heavy sigh. He was answered by a low groan from nearby. He wiped the mud from his eyes with his knuckles. "Hello. Is anyone there?" McCoy called into the darkness from the rain clouds and trees. He noted that he was in some kind of forest.

A weak reply came from his left. "What side is you'uns?"

It was a Southern drawl no doubt, McCoy concluded. Louisiana. What did he mean by what side, though? "What? I'm a doctor. Where are you?"

He heard a sharp cough, more of a wheezing, come from behind a nearby tree. He crawled over to the sickly voice. "Stay back," the voice said, threateningly.

"You're in no condition to make threats by the sound of your voice, boy." Another cough. McCoy rounded his way around the large trunk to see a boy; maybe seventeen at the most, look at him. His brown eyes wide with fear. The boy was soaking wet and his dark brown hair was plastered to his head. A streak of lightning strung out in the sky, followed by a roar of thunder. What shook McCoy was the spread out dark red stain on the boy's white shirt underneath an open grey jacket. The jacket seemed to be too large for the boy. The Louisianan's right fist was clutching the wound tightly, though, visibly shaking from cold and blood loss. "Where are ya from?" The boy asked through clenched teeth.

"Georgia." McCoy answered. The boy visibly relaxed. Odd, McCoy thought. "Here let me have a look at that there wound." The boy eased his hand off so McCoy could take a look. McCoy ripped the white shirt's fabric to get a better view of the wound. "Dr. Leonard McCoy, though I reckon a hand shake wouldn't fit at the moment."

The boy let out a weak chuckle. "Elias Clarke, 16th Louisiana." A bullet had gone clear through his lower chest, breaking only one of his ribs, thank God. If he could find something to act as a bandage and some sort of shelter, he was sure he could save the boy.

"16th Louisiana, huh, that sort of sounds like we're in the Civil-." McCoy broke off his sentence at the sound of horse's hooves and a deep voice.

"Well, look what we got here boys! Two rebs trying to help each other, ain't that sweet." He saw Elias scowl at the chuckles. He turned to see three men in a dark blue uniform mounted on three horses.

It all became clear to McCoy. He'd been thrown back in time during the Civil War! "Ah, Hell." McCoy muttered to himself. Elias tried to get up and McCoy held him back.

"C'mon, let him fight." The sandy blonde on the left smirked.

"That ain't no uniform? What kind of soldier are you?" The leader, who had spoken earlier, said. He was a fairly tall man with a bushy mustache. McCoy looked down, remembering for the first time that he was wearing his Starfleet uniform.

"I'm a doctor, dammit, not a soldier." McCoy growled at the Union soldiers.

"Well, I'm sure McClellan wouldn't mind some more prisoners." The sandy blonde smirked.

Elias glared at the three riders. "Ya Yanks wouldn't mind anything right, now." He spat. "McClellan's noth'in but a damn fool. Everything has to be perfect before he sends his precious Yanks into battle." Elias snickered. "At least General Lee knows when to strike." His eyes glistened with satisfaction as the three Union soldiers snarled. McCoy tilted his head at these sentences. So, McClellan was still the top General. They were still somewhat early in the war.

"You take that back, butternut!" The final rider yelled. His red hair dimmed to a dark brown from the darkness.

"Make me!" He sounded like in an argument with a parent. Though, the boy probably was doing that not that long ago.

McCoy winced as three swift shots rang past his ear. A puff of smoke hovered in front of a gleaming pistol drawn by the leader of the pack, his face glaring with hate. McCoy's eyes shot back to Elias Clarke. The Louisianan slumped back on the trunk of the tree, his eyes wide and glassy. A trickle of blood ran down from the corner of the dead soldier's mouth. "For God's sakes, he was just a kid!" McCoy cried out.

The same pistol clicked, the trigger setting to be pulled. McCoy found the end of the gun facing him. "And now he's a dead kid. Sorry Doc," the man said, however, McCoy knew he wasn't sorry. "Can't have you going around healing the Johnny Rebs."

McCoy snapped his eyes shut. Damn, if only he hadn't tripped. He wondered what Jim and Spock were doing right now. Were they somewhere here now, looking for him? The way things were right now, he wasn't sure if he wanted them to find him. They'd either find his corpse, or three trigger ready Union soldiers. Instead of hearing the shot of his death, McCoy heard a forth horse ride up, and in a hurry at that. McCoy opened an eye to see a new Union soldier ride up. He glanced down at McCoy with a puzzled look, and then turned to his three comrades. "Rebs," he said, his voice panting. "A whole pack of them, right behind me. We better get out of here." As if on timing, a loud shout of Rebel's parading came not to far off in distance.

The three men pulled the reins of their horses. "You got lucky this time, Doc." The leader snarled, retracting his pistol. "Getty up!" The four men disappeared in a dead fast pace.

McCoy let out a huge sigh of relief as they rode out of view. "Out of all the stupid times to fall in!" McCoy muttered in disgust. He wondered if there was a battle going on, or if this was just a skirmish. The heard the booms again in the distance. Cannons. He was in a battle all right, but what one? He looked back at the dead Louisianan. Just a kid, he thought in disgust. If it wasn't a war, what had just happened would be considered cold hard murder. War did bring out the worst in men. He was no doubt sixteen, probably lied and said he was eighteen to be enlisted. "What a waste." Right now, he was dressed on neither side. Not good for a person who talked like a Yankee, but was from the South. Reluctantly, he removed the Confederate coat from Elias's corpse. The uniform's coat was too large on Clarke, but fit nicely on him as he slid his arms inside the jacket. He sighed. This uniform jacket might save him, or it might get him killed. Either way, it hid his questionable Starfleet uniform. The rain dripped from the leaves and landed onto his head as he scouted through the dense woods, hoping and praying that he'd come upon a house or some type of shelter.

It'd been quite some time since he'd started walking, and, to his satisfaction, he had failed to run into anyone, except two corpses. Both Union. Unfortunately, the maze of trees continued to cage him in. His nauseas stomach had settled itself at the adjustment of getting used to the smell of sweat and dried blood, two things that reeked in the whole area. He lifted a tree branch with his hand and bent under it. He froze at the click of a gun's trigger. "Hold it right there, Reb."


	2. Chapter 2

"Bones!" Captain James T. Kirk yelled as his friend vanished through the swirling picture of time. He pounded his fist on a nearby ancient ruin. "Damn." This was just a simple mission of gathering as much information on history as possible, and now it just became more complicated. Oh well, it could be worse. McCoy could've gone through on an overdose of cordrazine again. Kirk shuddered as a thought of Edith Keeler dying popped in his mind.

"Dr. McCoy has yet again disappeared into the Guardian of Forever." First Officer Spock said, coming to Kirk's side. Spock did this deliberately to snap his Captain out of the regret of Edith Keeler. Kirk gave him a thanking smile, and the Vulcan's eyebrow inclined.

"But where to?" Kirk said, irritated. "How'd this happen again?"

"Captain," Lt. Uhura called from where McCoy was just walking. "I believe Dr. McCoy was tripped by this crevasse in the ground." She'd seen the Captain go pale, and wondered what had caused it. Uhura had never understood why Kirk had been so distant when he had come back from the Guardian the first time this incident happened.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Kirk said appreciably to the beautiful African Communications Officer. He turned his attention back to Spock. "But where in time was he sent?"

"I do not know, Captain. I was busy recording the ruins at the time."

"Then how do we find him." Kirk said. His voice sounded hopeless at the moment. Pondering with frustration and worry as to where his Chief Medical Officer currently was, and if he was in any danger."

"Captain," Spock said. "I believe I can calculate a way to figure out what time our good doctor is in."

"How, Spock?" Kirk asked. He truly did have the best First Officer in the fleet. If anyone could figure this problem out, it was Spock.

"My tricorder was not recording the Guardian at the time; however, the instrument has been operating since we were down here."

"How does that help us, Mr. Spock?" Uhura asked, puzzled.

"As you know, Lieutenant, a tricorder keeps track of the time of how long it's been operating." He nodded, letting Uhura continue his theory.

"So," she said, amazed at the Vulcan's brilliant plan. "We look at the time and ask the Guardian to replay history-."

Kirk continued, his fingers snapped as he gained the knowledge. "And we jump through at that certain time!" Kirk grinned. "Let's find out where he went. Guardian?"

"Yes, Captain Kirk." The deep voice came from the ring shaped ruin. A series of pictures began playing in the middle of the ring, a foggy smoke emitting around the picture.

Spock began reading his tricorder. They watched with fixed fascination. They saw Eli Whitney announce his invention of the Cotton Gin. Abraham Lincoln, the 16th President, getting inaugurated into the White House. The firing at Fort Sumter igniting the Civil War into action showed on the time portal. "Now." Spock said, shutting his tricorder.

"Bones is stuck in the Civil War!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Hold it right there, Reb." McCoy whirled to face the voice of his captor. A fairly tall slender man with light brown hair that had a gold tone to it was pointing a loaded pistol at him. He was Union and McCoy suddenly regretted taking the Confederate jacket.

"Today's just not my day," the Chief Medical Officer spat in disgust.

"Why's that, Reb?" The man's mouth quirked upward slightly. "And if it makes you feel any better, I'm having a great day." The man smirked.

"Thanks, that makes me feel so much better inside." McCoy rolled his eyes to emphasize his sarcastic voice. He moved on to the man's first question. "Oh, most of it you wouldn't believe." McCoy muttered. "For one, I was caught by three of your men on horses earlier."

His captor paused for a moment. "Was one a ginger?"

"Yep," McCoy replied, dryly.

"Well, be glad you got away." The man snorted. "They're probably some of the lowest scum we got in our army." McCoy raised an eyebrow. "Why do you think they're out here? If they ever faced a battle like real men, they'd be heading for the hills in no time." McCoy chuckled a little. "They only go at it if they have the advantage."

"Well then, if ya'll are any better, why are ya out here?" McCoy's Georgian drawl started to peek out of his sentences. Like it mattered though, he was already assumed a Confederate.

"Touché," he replied. "However, I'm not used to giving that information to my prisoners-." The Union soldier's hazel green eyes widened dizzyingly. The man gagged and outstretched his hand to rest on a nearby tree for support. McCoy moved forward to help him, but he held up the gun defensively. "Stay back."

He coughed up some blood, and McCoy persisted and moved forward to assist the soldier. His captor held up the gun again, warningly. McCoy snorted. "You're in no condition to make threats, Mister."

The man smiled. "You got me there, Reb." The Union soldier grunted and closed his eyes. When he didn't open them, McCoy grabbed the man's wrist and searched for a pulse.

"Damn." McCoy cursed. He had a pulse, thank God, but it was extremely faint. McCoy struggled to lower the man gently. He opened the man's dark blue jacket carefully. He had no clue how, but the man had apparently busted a rib cage. Unfortunately, the jagged end of one of the ribs had most likely punctured a hole in his lung. Meaning, he'd drown in his own blood. He sighed, "I just had to trip didn't I?" He said, gazing to the dark sky. A blaze of lightning struck out and it began to downpour heavily on him. "I'll take that as a yes," McCoy grunted. He felt the rain droplets repel of his jacket. Okay, now he was glad he'd taken the Confederate jacket. He hoisted the unconscious Union soldier, placing the man's arm around his shoulders. McCoy shifted his weight so he supported the soldier up. McCoy wrapped his arm around the man's torso. "C'mon." He said to himself. McCoy started his long trek to find shelter again, only this time dragging a Union soldier with him.

They traveled for quite some distance in the thick forest. "I'm beginning to hate nature." McCoy grumbled.

"Lost?" McCoy almost jumped at another voice. His eyes shot to his side to see the Union soldier flash a wry grin at him.

"When'd you wake up?"

"About two minutes ago."

"Did you hear me talking?"

"Just some mumbling about two guys named Jim and Spock and why the Hell they hadn't found you yet."

"Oh," McCoy said, a little relived that he hadn't said anything about the future. "They're friends of mine. You could say we're like brothers." McCoy turned his attention back to the soldier. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm doing fine, I guess. Got a pain in my side." He looked at McCoy and smiled. "You're okay for a Reb, you know that."

"I'm a doctor, not a Confederate."

"What about the jacket?" The man said, eyeing McCoy's grey jacket.

"Borrowed it from a dead guy that your three scum shot. I am from the South though, Georgia."

"I figured. That Northern accent covers it for the most part though."

"When work'en with you Yankees, you gotta change your accent. Otherwise, you guys can't understand a thing. I swear when I first went North, none of you had any idea what I was saying for a week. It peeks out every now and again." McCoy smiled, thinking of the incident with the spores. He chuckled, remembering Kirk's stunned look when he called him Jimmy boy. "How'd you get in that condition? I saw the slash marks on your arms, and the ripped lines in the jacket."

"I'm Calvary, so we normally use swords rather than guns. Anyway, I got in a one on one fight with a fellow Calvary Reb. We both killed each others partners. Those are the slash marks, from a sword fight. Man fought well, but more of my men could be heard coming in the distance. Anyway, he shoved me backwards into a tree with all his strength left." He sighed. "It was enough to slam the butt of my sword hard into my chest." He coughed up some more blood onto the ground. "Been coughing up blood ever since."

"What happened to him?"

"He got away, lucky bastard." The man chuckled. "Good swordsman, seemed like a nice fellow. What I wouldn't give to go against him again for fun." The Union soldier suddenly coughed again and slumped forward. Good, McCoy thought, the man needed to rest. So, the end of his sword had busted his rib.

It seemed like hours had passed when McCoy finally found an opening in the trees. McCoy, however, dare he say it, was doing the logical thing. He had been counting the minutes go by, and it had only been about a half an hour. McCoy beamed as he saw the opening through the trees. He moved a branch to view the surrounding. He gaped as he saw a stunningly beautiful valley of never-ending green. And the best part, not a tree in sight. McCoy could make out the streaks of rain falling from the clouds. The few lights of the sun shining through the clouds like lights to heaven. He heard the familiar sound of cannon fire; he had placed more distance from it and him. He noted a little dirt path that continued across the valley and out of view. McCoy immediately ducked as an ambulance pulled by horses sped by on the road with soldier escorts. He ducked behind a large tree, lowering them both so they would be out of view. The Chief Medical Officer didn't even bother to see which side the soldiers and cart were on. He would either be an enemy capturing an ally, or an ally caring for an enemy. He really didn't want the hassle of being either. He held his breath as they rode inches by.

McCoy made his move and exited through the trees and out into the open valley. He looked to his side to check on his companion. The Union soldier was worsening by the minute. McCoy soughtoff to get him somewhere warm and dry.

Awhile later, McCoy finally reached the top of a fairly escalated hill. He had hoped it would give him a better view, and hopefully the ability to see a shelter of some sort. McCoy spotted, not far off in the distance, a medium sized yellow wooden house. I hope their charitable enough to take in a wounded Union soldier and a Southern doctor, McCoy thought. He sighed, he still had no clue what state they were in.

A few minutes later, McCoy finally approached the small porch of the yellow house. He knocked on the door with his free hand and called, "Hello. Is anyone home?"

"Go away." McCoy wasn't shocked that it was a Southern drawl, it was the fact it was a woman's. "I've already given ya adequate supplies for the war effort." He could tell that the famine voice was frightened.

"Ma'am, I'm a doctor. I got a patient here who needs immediate attention. He needs to be somewhere warm and dry." The door cracked open slightly, revealing a bright blue eye and some thick dark brown curls hanging around a shoulder. He heard her gasp at the sight of the Union soldier weighing on his side. "Please, I know he's a Yankee, but he's still a Human. I don't think you could let a man die just because what side he's on." McCoy waited a moment. The door opened all the way and she nodded for them to come in. He noted that she had lowered the rifle she was clutching, setting it back on a nearby mantel. "Thank you."


	4. Chapter 4

Captain Kirk strolled down the corridors, nodding a passing crewman. It seemed like everyday there was a new young and eager face smiling at him, ready to do his or her best and rise up in rank. He enjoyed their curious looks today due to the Captain's odd looking uniform. Yeoman Colbert glided by, pausing and scanning his dark blue outfit. He felt himself tense a little. Lt. Colbert was from North Carolina. The hate between the two halves of the United States had died off centuries ago. There were only a handful of losers in both North and South that wouldn't let it go and didn't understand that it was their ancestors fight, and you couldn't blame either side for what their ancestors did. He hoped as Hell she wasn't one of those rare few. "War of Northern Aggression, eh?" She smiled, reassuring him that it didn't bug her one bit. Colbert was one of the few female crewmembers who choose to wear pants instead of the normal skirt. She had a good excuse to; it would be a weird to be a Security Officer running around beating people up in a mini skirt. "I heard Dr. McCoy was back in time during the Civil War. Guess the rumors were true." Her face turned glum for a moment. "There goes half of my salary this week."

"Do you enjoy learning about the Civil War, Lieutenant?"

"Oh yeah," she beamed. "My pa and I used to re-enact Sharpsburg every year!" Sharpsburg was the Southern name for the battle of Antietam, in Maryland. The battle was considered the bloodiest day of the Civil War.

Kirk nodded and flashed a charming smile. Colbert just grinned; he'd have to do better than that to get her to fall head over heels like the other women on the ship.

Kirk arrived at his intended destination after a few more steps, Spock's cabin. He rang the buzzer to let the Vulcan know he was there. "Come," the calm voice said from inside the room.

Kirk glided into the room. As soon as he did, a blast of heat ran over his body. Since Spock was from the planet Vulcan, a desert planet, he always had his cabin set to a comfortable temperature for himself. It didn't help that a Union officer's outfit was much more thick and warm than the Starfleet one he was accustomed to. "Spock you ready?" He saw Spock take a dark bandana and wrap it around his head, covering his pointed alien ears. The Vulcan then put on the blue cap.

"Indeed, Captain." The two officers started out of the cabin and down to the transporter when the ship suddenly dimmed to a flashing red.

Ensign Pavel Chekov's young Russian accent came to life over the intercom. "Red Alert, Red Alert. Keptin Kirk and Mr. Spock to da Bridge."

Kirk trotted over to the nearest communications panel and snapped it to life. "Kirk here. We're on our way."

When they arrived on the Bridge, they immediately went to their stations. Kirk ignored the stunned looks from the Bridge about their uniforms. Kirk cushioned himself in the familiar black command seat. "What's going on Chekov?" He asked the navigator, who was trotting back to his station from Spock's spot.

"I vas monitoring space activity at Mr. Spock's station, vhen I picked up a surge of energy coming from the Neutral Zone." It was true; Kirk had completely forgotten the fact that they were right next to the Romulan Neutral Zone.

"Do you think it could be a cloaking device?"

"I believe so, Keptin." Chekov shrugged and spread apart his thumbs.

"Do you think we have anything to worry about?"

Lt. Sulu cut in from his station. "Captain, the Romulans haven't exactly been known for their hospitality." The Russian looked a little irritated at being deprived of his attention from his Captain, but simmered down at his console.

"What do you think, Bon-?" Kirk sunk in his chair slightly, remembering that his Chief Medical Officer wasn't slouched, standing right behind him and sputtering sarcastic comments throughout the Bridge. Kirk got up and strode over to Spock. "Spock, I think only one of us should go, just in case the Romulans do get a little edgy about us being right next door."

"Agreed, Captain. I shall go."

"Now wait just a minute, Spock. You're not even human."

"Captain, I'm half human." Spock replied. "Ensign Chekov will serve as adequate Science Officer while I'm gone."

Kirk couldn't argue with this, and he nodded in compliance. Spock was just as much concerned about McCoy as he was. The two bantered like the strongest rivals; however, they really cared about each other and were close friends. If anyone could find McCoy, Spock could. Kirk decided to change the subject. "You know Spock, I had ancestors that fought in the Civil War."

"Indeed, Captain." Spock's eyebrow inclined. "Were they from Iowa?"

"Surprisingly, no Spock. There were 1,486 Kirk's that fought in the Civil War." Kirk grinned to himself. After all this time, he still remembered the number. In 9th grade he had been given an assignment about the Civil War. He'd gotten really interested and looked up this information. "Granted, I wasn't related to all of them, but my ancestors were from New York at that time."

"Fascinating."

"Well, I guarantee you that McCoy's got more ancestors at that time than me." It was true; McCoy was probably in the high two thousands or low three thousands.

"Indeed, Captain?"

Kirk snickered. "Sure, Spock. Haven't you ever heard of the Hatfield/McCoy Feud?" Spock rose his eyebrow in a gesture that told him no. "Well, Spock, maybe when you find McCoy, you can ask him and maybe he'll tell you."


	5. Chapter 5

McCoy finished washing the operating blood off his hands and was drying them when he strolled into the kitchen. Fortunately, the woman had a medical kit that was well enough equipped for him to repair the man's lung and realign the ribcage well enough that he'd live. The woman who had answered the door, and the only one apparently in the household, was working an ancient looking stove. She was a short woman, but had a slim body that did her size well. She had her hair up in a bun, but most of her front thick dark brown curls were hanging down to the side of her face. She was in her mid twenties, McCoy concluded. Like most Southern belles, she was sporting a frilly lavender dress with white lace at the ends of her sleeves and collar. Wrapped around her bun was a dark purple ribbon that was in a slightly malformed bow. "I'd like to thank you for letting me use your house Miss-?"

She smiled sweetly at him. "Sarah Hart."

He introduced himself as well. "Dr. Leonard McCoy. I hope we weren't intruding."

"Not at all, I could use the company. How is he?"

"Should be fine, as long as he gets plenty of rest." McCoy was glad to; it was a miracle with the archaic equipment he had to use. It was amazing how anyone even lived through this war. The Chief Medical Officer was inwardly pleased with himself at his handy work.

She looked a little relieved. Sarah took off the pot from the stove and began pouring the brown liquid into two cups. "Would you care for some coffee?"

"I'd be much obliged." She handed him a cup and they walked out into the living room. Sarah nodded to him and he sat in a velvet red chair to the right as she placed herself in a similar chair across from him.

McCoy took a sip and almost gagged. She laughed. "I should've warned ya, it's not the real stuff. We've been short on coffee since the war started."

"From the blockade?" She nodded and he gave her a sympathetic smile.

"We have blockade runners; Lord knows my Uncle's one of them. But it's still not enough to supply the South with adequate results. Most of us have learned to live without most of the luxuries like sugar." McCoy nodded. The blockade around the South's North Pacific coast, to keep them from getting foreign goods, was part of Winfield Scott's Anaconda Plan. The South's main plan was to defend herself and gain foreign support from countries like Great Britain. The blockade would last through the war, and General Grant would take care of the Anaconda plan in the west by cutting off her forts by sailing up New Orleans, which was captured for the North by David Farragut, a Tennessean still loyal to the Union. McCoy remembered that Kirk's first ship was the _USS Farragut_. McCoy felt suddenly saddened by the Anaconda Plan, knowing full well what it would make these people go through. Extreme poverty and suffering.

"I know this sounds kind of silly, but where exactly are we?"

She tilted her head at him in curiosity. "Well, yer the first Confederate that didn't know when he was in his own country's capitol."

"We're in Montgomery, Alabama?" Odd, McCoy thought, her accent wasn't from Alabama. He saw her laugh again at his guess. "What?"

"Where're ya from?" She asked, intrigued. Sarah fought back the urge to laugh again.

"Georgia." McCoy said, he didn't know what was so funny.

"Does Georgia not hear news about when her capitol moves?"

McCoy could have slapped himself in the face at his stupidly. As soon as Virginia seceded from the Union, the South's capitol was moved to Virginia from Alabama. "We're in Richmond, Virginia?"

"Well, you're about twelve miles from it, but its close enough." She corrected.

"What about this action going on not to far from here?" He asked.

"It's been going on for two days now. Seems like it'll go on forever. Some of the locals are starting to call it the Seven Days Battle." So, McCoy thought. General Lee would end up victorious over General McClellan in this one. The name would stick; however, it would be only about five days of battle instead of seven.

They heard a groan come from the bedroom. "What're you talk'en about?" The two Southerners turned to see that the Union soldier had woken up and was balancing himself by leaning in the doorway. The soldier was topless and his bare chest was wrapped tightly in bandages. They both got up from their seats and guided him over to the couch were they gently laid him down.

He struggled to get up, but McCoy held him down. "You stay put." He ordered, strictly. "If you move too much you'll break open the wound where I sewed you up." Damn, the man was a stubborn as Jim Kirk.

"I'll be sure to do that, Reb."

McCoy and Sarah returned to their seats across from him. "First of all," McCoy snapped. "Stop calling me Reb. My name is Dr. McCoy." McCoy nestled in the chair and took another sip of the coffee. The stuff wasn't that bad, once you got used to it. He took another sip.

"Well, Dr. McCoy, I'm Major William Kirk from New York." He smiled at him. "Thank you for saving my life."

McCoy spat out the coffee in shock. "Did you say Kirk," he sputtered, thinking maybe he'd heard wrong.

"You did. McCoy, huh? Went up against a McCoy once."

"Really?" Sarah asked.

Kirk changed his vision to her, noticing the beautiful woman for the first time. McCoy was still recovering from learning his last name. "And who would you be?" He flashed a charming smile, and she blushed. Yep, he was a Kirk.

"Sarah Hart."

"Well, it's nice to meet you Miss Hart." Kirk turned back to McCoy. "Yep, some of my boys caught him and a friend out scouting around the area. Put up quite a fight at that. He held us off so his friend could escape." Kirk smiled. "Anyway, we took him prisoner. Turned out he was an officer, Captain Samuel McCoy from Savannah, Georgia." Kirk looked at McCoy. "You related?"

"I don't know." It was true, he didn't.

"Anyway, must've been a damn good Captain, because a few days later his friend was back with their whole regiment, and they got him back from us. Good man too, kindhearted and passionate. I was kinda glad he got away."

McCoy smiled. He'd have to look up his family tree when he got back to the _Enterprise_. The doctor turned back to Hart. So, he was in Richmond. He couldn't help himself and would ask about a few people. "Do you know an Elizabeth Van Lew?"

Kirk watched McCoy silently. How the Hell did this man know Elizabeth? He felt a little worried; he hoped to death that he didn't spill any information while dizzy. Hart answered his question defensively, "Iffin yer going to make fun of "Crazy Bet", I don't want to hear it."

"No, in fact, I kinda admire the woman's spirit and determination." McCoy wasn't really lying either. "They say she goes and visits the Union prisoners every day. Doesn't sound crazy to me, just sounds like a compassionate woman."

Kirk clenched his teeth. He must have talked about his meeting with her to take the information she'd gathered from the prisoners to General Grant. There was no other possible way he could know about the Union spy. However, Kirk was surprised when McCoy didn't say anything else about the matter, and moved on to another person. Was this man a Union spy working in the Confederacy as well, like Elizabeth? How else would he know about Van Lew and not spill anything about her work. Kirk found himself extremely interested in finding out more about this Dr. McCoy.

"What about Will McLean and Virginia Mason, ya know them?" McCoy asked, intrigued.

"I've heard of them, but never had the pleasure to meet them in person. Hear they moved to Appomattox." Sarah answered, gingerly taking a sip of coffee. McCoy nodded. Too bad, he'd love to see if some things were true about them. What happened to that family was, will be, ironic. The war had started in their front yard, and would end in their parlor. It was true, the Battle of Manassas, the Northern name was Bull Run, had started in the front yard of their mansion. They'd moved to Appomattox, like Sarah said, to get away from the war. However, the terms of surrender between Ulysses S. Grant and Robert E. Lee would, will be, decided in the parlor of their house. He had read a book called _In My Father's House_ about it in 8th grade as part of an assignment. It was fiction, but the characters and events were real. It even told you what was made up and what wasn't in the back of the book. He smiled, he even remembered the name of the teacher who a assigned it to his class, Mrs. Belbutoski.

Kirk decided to speak. "Miss Hart," he started. "Do you live alone here, are you married?"

"This is my brother's house." Kirk smiled and relaxed, feeling better that she was not alone during the war. "He died at Hornet's Nest." Kirk frowned at her sadness. "Hornet's Nest" was the nickname for the Battle of Shiloh in Tennessee. Ironically enough, Shiloh is a Hebrew name which means Place of Peace. Shiloh, Tennessee certainly wasn't a place of peace since the battle.

"I'm sorry I brought it up." Kirk apologized, he had fought at Shiloh.

"It's okay. You didn't know." She smiled, brightening up again.

A loud knock on the front door interrupted the awkward silence. The three Human's tensed for a moment, glancing around at each other for an idea of what to do. Hart rose hastily from her seat and headed for the noise of the visitor outside. McCoy stood in main room, keeping an eye on her and the Major, in case he was needed to aid either. Kirk struggled to sit up, but one sharp glance from the doctor told him to rest himself back down. The Union soldier followed the silent order, but kept his head up, intensely watching the attractive Southern woman.

Hart slowly opened the door to reveal a rather short man with wavy steel black hair and a short trimmed beard along his face. The man was most likely in his early forties by the appearing bags and wrinkles under his dull silver glue eyes. He wore a faded outfit, but it was clearly marked as a Confederate uniform. "Ma'am." He nodded politely at her, a Texan no doubt by his voice. "I'm Sergeant Phil Walker."

"Yes, Sergeant Walker?" She asked him, trying not to sound suspicious. It was a challenge, considering she was harboring an enemy Major in her house. His gaze flickered past her and to the two figures in the background. He gestured toward them in question.

"Oh," she said turning, as though she'd completely forgotten they were there. Her gaze fixed on Kirk. "This is my…husband, Will." To her relief, McCoy had brilliantly thought to throw a blanket over Kirk's lower half, which showed his Union Calvary pants.

"What happened t'him?" Walker asked, noticing the bandages on Kirk's chest.

"Got'n a fight with some Northern scum that decided that they could still live here in our capitol." McCoy said, seeing that Hart was nervous, continually wiping her hands on her apron.

"And ya're?" The Texan asked McCoy.

"The girl's father."

"Ya fight?" McCoy remembered he still had the Confederate uniform fully buttoned on his upper half, to hide his Starfleet uniform. He pondered the question.

Hart came to his rescue. "Daddy got a serious head injury at Pea Ridge." She lowered her voice to a hush. "Right most'a the time, but has some head trauma every now and again. Ain't able to fight cause of it." The man nodded, in sympathy. "Still thinks he's in the army." McCoy made a sour face to this remark, but complied with the lie. He noted that there were no more sounds of cannon fire. Must be at a break for now, McCoy decided. "So why're ya here?"

"The army's short on rations right now, and we've been sent out to take what we can." Sarah's gaze shot past the Sergeant and locked on another soldier out in her fields, dragging her cow out of the fence.

Hart took a step forward, but the Texan blocked her with one swift movement. "Miss, look, I'm sorry, but if we don't take her, the Yankee's surely will." She thrust her way past him, picked up the front of her dress, and darted toward the field where the man was taking her cow. "Miss!" He called, but she ignored him.

Kirk shot up, but McCoy calmed him down. "I'll get her. You, stay put." McCoy took off after the distant purple dressed figure, with the Texan following in hot pursuit. Kirk cursed as they left. He wasn't going to let anything happen to either McCoy or Hart.

Hart felt her feet throb moving above the uneven ground, the tall grass brushing up against her ankles. She came in close view of a somewhat attractive man with light brown hair and a stubble of beard growth trying to pull her cow towards his hitched grey horse. She didn't even bother to ask what he was trying to do, she already knew. With full force, she shoved the unsuspecting soldier to the ground sprawling. "You get away from her." She warned, some of her hair falling down from her bun.

The soldier stood up, brushing the dirt off of his uniform's pants. "With all'em men fight'en in the war, ya women forgot how to use yer manners." He snapped in a Mississippi drawl, his dark brown eyes inspecting her. "Look lady, we gotta whole army to feed, and I'm taken this cow with me."

"You can't," she protested, stomping a foot sturdily on the ground. "Betsy's pregnant." She heard the cow moo behind her at the mention of her name. Of course, Betsy could just want to scare off some flies that were bugging her in her view. Lord new, those horsefly bites hurt like the dickens.

"I don't care what Betsy's condition is, she's a 'coming with me," the man snarled. He harshly grabbed the roped reins back from her grasp. "Look'em here Missy," he said, flirtingly with her. "A woman of yer beauty should be love'n a soldier, not fight'en one."

Hart made a grimacing face of disgust at the soldier's pass on her. He snorted in response, and continued to drag the cow. She turned, hearing running feet come up from behind her. McCoy came to a halt and immediately rested his hands on his bend knees. She watched him pant for a moment.

"I haven't run that much since being a cadet at Starfleet Academy," he muttered under his heavy breathing. "I'm get'en to old for this." He tugged at the uncomfortable collar of the grey uniform. It felt like his neck was in a sling, same as his damn dress uniform. "What's going on?"

"He's taken Betsy." Hart replied, frantically. "She's a milk'en cow, not beef!"

"Corporal," Walker snapped, approaching them.

"Yes, Suh." The soldier snapped into attention. "I was jes taken this here cow."

"Ya can't have her, she's pregnant!" Hart charged at the Mississippian before McCoy could react.

However, the Corporal was ready and shoved her to the ground harshly. Automatically, the soldier pulled out his pistol on her.

"Corporal!" The Texan Sergeant shouted at the trigger-happy Corporal in shock and disapproval.

A single shot rang out in all of their ears. The Corporal ducked as he heard the bullet literally spiral over his head. A familiar voice called out, heroically, from behind them. "Get back on your horse, Reb."

McCoy turned to look at Major Kirk, who was holding a smoking pistol in his right hand. "How in God's name did you get out here?" McCoy asked, knowing all to well that Kirk shouldn't be off of the couch.

"I ran." Kirk said, plainly.

"Humph," McCoy grunted. "Don't expect me to magically heal you if you break open those stitches."

"I wouldn't think of it, Doc." Kirk smirked, he continued with the soldier. "I said; get back on your horse, Reb."

The Texan blinked at McCoy. "Yer a Sawbones?" McCoy almost laughed at the term used for doctors of this time, but nodded instead. He'd have to tell this story to Jim when he got back, since his Captain had come up with the nickname from one of his antique books. It took place shortly after the Civil War in the Old West.

The Colonel looked at him and turned to Kirk with confusion for a moment. He spat. "I don't take orders from some blue belly." The Texan looked a little confused, but immediately realized that he'd been tricked when hearing the Northern accent emit from the "husbands" mouth.

The corners of Kirk's mouth quirked upward slightly. "You'll take those orders or you'll get some from a hole in your head." The Corporal snarled, and reluctantly mounted his horse. "Now, listen here. We're keeping this cow, and your not going to come back or-." Everything in Kirk's vision began to fuse and move. He felt dizzy. Kirk suddenly collapsed to the ground before finishing his sentence. Hart and McCoy instinctively rushed to his aid.

The Corporal started to move forward on his horse, but Walker threw out his hand in front of the horse. "Corporal," he warned.

The Corporal, shocked, protested. "But Sergeant, he's the enemy-."

"Do you have a hearing problem, Corporal?" The Texan said, showing his authority.

"No, Suh. Jes thought I should kill'em."

"If anyone's gonna kill someone, it'll be me or on my order. Understood?"

"Yes, Suh." The Corporal complied with the statement, but looked a little disappointed.

Walker looked down at the three faces. The older one, now known to him as the doctor, was bent down on one knee and was trying to help the fallen Yankee. The woman was doing the same, but both were determined to protect him from harms way. He drew out his pistol and heard a satisfactory snicker from the Corporal.

McCoy waited what seemed like an eternity, staring at the Sergeant, waiting to see what he'd do. McCoy's pale blue eyes widened as the Texan withdrew the threat and slid the gun back in his side holster buckled around his waist with a heavy sigh. The CMO watched the Corporal's face turn bright red with rage. "Ya can't do that!"

The Texan turned to him. "What do ya want me to do?"

"Shoot'em." The man exploded with disbelief.

"Shoot a woman, doctor, and wounded enemy?" Walker shook his head. "No, I'm a soldier and a man, something you still have yet to become." McCoy's eyebrow rose in a Spock like manner. The Sergeant turned to Kirk and Hart. "I gotta little sister who's got a heart for a Yankee." He nodded to them and Hart's face turned bright red.

She protested in embarrassment. "Oh, but we're not…I mean…He's not-."

The Corporal flared, interrupting Hart's stuttering. "But they're harboring a damn Yankee! They're traitors to the Confederacy!" He reined the horse to where they'd come from. "If ya ain't doing anything about it, I as sure as sam hill is!" McCoy gazed at the Mississippian. He's mad, McCoy thought. The way the man's eyes looked: terror, hate, fear, insanity. Probably from all the death and destruction he's seen, McCoy decided.

The Sergeant took a step toward the man. "Corporal," he said, trying to calm him.

"Damn ya!" He yelled. He veered his horse with a harsh pull on the reins. "I'll be back, and ya'll traitors will pay!" The Mississippian kicked his horse's side, signaling it to go. He rode down the valley and into the woods in a dead fast pace.

Walker darted for his own tan horse in astonishment. He mounted himself quickly and nodded to them hastily. "Damn fool's gonna get us all killed someday." He muttered. The Texan spurred his horse and took off after the hysterical Corporal.

"Well," McCoy finally spoke and broke the stunned silence. "That went well." He clasped his hands together and looked at them. "Let's get you two lovers back to the house."

Hart flared. "We are courting in no way!" Kirk, however, just kept a smug grin on his face.

McCoy gazed at where the two had rode off while supporting Kirk, yet again, on his shoulder. "Think that Corporal'll be back?"

"Yep," Kirk just nodded solemnly. They started to make their way back to the yellow house.


	6. Chapter 6

About an half an hour had passed since they'd returned to the house, and McCoy felt a touch of sorrow as he watched Hart's hand violently shake as she poured him some more coffee. McCoy recognized the woman's behavioral actions as signs of nervousness. He took a small sip of the dark brown liquid. Oddly, he was really starting to take a strong liking to the stuff. He debated in his mind if the _Enterprise's _Food Synthesizers could reproduce the stuff. He turned his thoughts back to the owner of the house. "You're nervous." He stated, feeling for her.

Sarah looked up from her racing mind. "Huh?" Her lose curls bobbed in front of her face. She'd let her hair down when they returned to the house.

"You're nervous." McCoy repeated.

"Oh, don't I know it." She huffed in defeat. "I'm just frightened I guess." She plopped down next to him on the plush couch. "It's just…"

"Just what?" McCoy asked, trying to help. He actually knew exactly why she was worried, but it was good if she let it out herself.

"Well," she looked on the edge of tears. "I just don't know what I'd do if anything was to happen to this place, or you, or Major Kirk." She sighed. "I should've just let'em take Betsy, then we wouldn't be in this awful mess."

"No," McCoy protested. "You did the right thing. I'm sure I speak for Major Kirk as well when I say we're with you one-hundred percent in this."

"But ya could be killed!" She argued. "Ya both should leave before that AWOL Corporal comes! I'll be all right, really." She said, trying to convince him.

It didn't work. "Look here, we can take him if he comes back." McCoy said, reassuringly. "Besides, he's probably being horsewhipped by that Sergeant by now."

She let out a small laugh. "But-."

"Nothing more about it," McCoy ordered. She nodded. McCoy smiled, but deep down, he knew that the Corporal was indeed coming back. A man that crazed would do anything to get past that Sergeant of his. And who was to say he didn't have any friends to back him up. The CMO cursed in his mind. Where the Hell was Jim and Spock? If only he had a hand phaser, then he'd stun that Corporal all the way to kingdom come. But no, their only force was a wounded Union Major, a Southern Belle, and himself, a cranky doctor lost in the past. Well, maybe there was some hope. He'd defiantly been in worse situations before.

He patted her gingerly on the shoulder for comfort. She looked up and gave him a kind-hearted smile of warmth. He stood and stretched his legs for a moment. Then, McCoy walked over to the bedroom where they had put up Kirk to rest, and entered quietly. He wasn't quite sure if the Major was still asleep. Kirk had been restless and anxious to go and kill the Corporal so they'd be safe, he'd become too much for the two of them to handle. McCoy had luckily fallen through the Guardian with his Medical case attached to his waist. He'd kept it hidden in the Confederate jacket for the time, but had used a hypo to knock the Major out. It was a good thing too, he was sure the Union soldier would've past out if he kept moving around. McCoy hoped as Hell that Kirk hadn't seen the futuristic device.

He moved quietly and carefully in the dark lit room. It was a somewhat small room, but was nicely decorated and McCoy assumed Hart had designed and fixed it up herself. It was painted with a light and pleasing sky blue that matched McCoy's eyes. The bed was a more calming ocean colored fix of pattern. There was one table to the right side of it. McCoy thought it looked like an oak. There was one candle holder placed on it that was not currently lit. By the door where McCoy entered, there was a light blue padded chair to the left that looked like it was made by the same room as the table. He moved over to the bed where Kirk laid restfully, his head propped up by a fluffy pillow, seeming at peace with himself. He placed his hand around the Union soldier's wrist to check the man's pulse.

At the touch of the flesh, Kirk's eye's snapped open like a hawk. "What the-?!" McCoy jumped back in shock, but Kirk grabbed his wrist tightly and kept him in place. "Sweet Georgia," McCoy grinned. "Do you always like to give your doctor's heart attacks?"

Kirk's eyes stayed sharp in McCoy's. The CMO noted that the Major was completely serious, McCoy's grin faded. "Just a minute, Doc."

McCoy was completely taken aback by Kirk's stern tone. "Look here-." McCoy began to protest, but was interrupted.

"Just who are you?" Kirk asked, his hand still firmly gripped around McCoy's wrist.

"What the Hell's that supposed to mean? I already told you, my name's Dr. McCoy."

"No," Kirk said, coolly. "I knew that, but there's something very strange about you, Dr. McCoy. You're different."

McCoy gulped. "I don't know what you mean." He replied defensively.

"Really," Kirk said. "Then what was that you gave me to fall asleep."

Shit, McCoy thought. He had seen the hypo. "I just gave you a sedative, that's all."

"That's a weird looking sedative." Kirk hardly replied. "Funny, how I've never encountered something like it before."

Why'd he have to be a Kirk, McCoy asked to himself. The CMO thought quickly. "It's new, I've been testing it."

"That's not true, Doctor." Kirk stared him down. "Plus, how do you know Elizabeth?"

"Elizabeth?" The CMO asked, puzzled.

"Van Lew." Kirk said, sternly.

"Does it matter," McCoy locked eyes.

"It does." Kirk said. "You make no sense. You're a Southerner with a Union accent, and you claim to be on neither side. Then, you know of Elizabeth, and I certainly didn't spill any of my reason for being here to you, so how could you know about her. Strangely though, you don't spill any information about her profession, which I know you know Doctor. You seem to know a lot, more than most of us. Why is that? And finally, you gave me a sedative in some weird looking thing I've never seen before."

The _Enterprise_ Officer's eyes widened in shock at the man's words. Kirk continued. "I'll say it again, who are you?"

McCoy tightened his gaze and replied, "Do you trust me?"

This time Kirk was taken aback. "What?"

"Do you trust me?" McCoy repeated.

"Well, yes. Yes, I do." Kirk answered. Truth be told, he really like the Sawbones. The man had this sort of feeling about him that Kirk liked.

"Well, then what does it matter." McCoy stated. "You'll just have to trust me and not ask who I am, or why I'm here. Believe me; I'm not here on either side. In fact, I'm not even supposed to be here, period." McCoy said, truthfully. He hoped Kirk would expect it. If he was truly a Kirk, he would. And McCoy was counting on it.

The Major was about to reply when a sudden female scream of fright came from the main room. Both men turned to the door and glanced at each other in shock. It was Sarah's voice. Kirk immediately retracted his hand from the doctor's wrist. They both darted into the main room with hast. McCoy didn't even try to keep Kirk from getting out of bed.

Kirk and McCoy ran through the door and froze. There, standing in the doorway, was the crazed Corporal and two friends. The one on the right was tall and slender with messy black hair. The other was an average sized stocky man who looked to be the oldest of the group and was wearing a pear of ancient looking spectacles. But clearly, the Corporal was in charge. All three were grinning mischievously, but the Corporal's smile made McCoy angry. He wanted to slam the man in the face just by his look. "Nice to see ya'll again, too." The Corporal said, snickering at his own upper hand. McCoy looked as though he was going to bite the man's head off, Kirk thought. He liked the idea, Kirk decided.

Hart was standing over by the mantel, where the rifle she'd had earlier was. She tried a lunge, but the older Confederate cocked a gun in her direction. "Hold it there, Missy." He snarled. McCoy decided that the man was from South Carolina.

"Good job, Ben." The Corporal said to the man. Ben nodded in compliance. Hart looked disgusted by the men. "Aw, come on, cutie." The Corporal said to her. "Ya can't expect us to go and let ya get hold of it, now can ya."

Hart merely spat near him. The Corporal flared with outrage. McCoy instinctively reacted. "Where's Sergeant Walker?" McCoy asked.

The Corporal changed his attention from Sarah to the CMO. "That pissant? I knocked him out." He grinned through his teeth. "It was for his own good, ya'll are traitors. He was too stupid to see it." The tall one let out a laugh at the remark. Kirk, Hart, and McCoy all scowled in response. "Fun's over." All three Confederate soldiers pulled out their pistols and pointed it at one of them. The Corporal aimed his at Kirk, Ben at McCoy, and the tall one at Hart.

"Ya'll won't get away with it." Hart glared. She new they would, it just felt like the right thing to say at the moment.

"Let's see," the Corporal said, debating at his own amusement. "Which one should we kill first?" He turned to the tall one. "Jed?"

Jed smirked and replied, "Don't know, Corporal."

"I hate this one the most." The Mississippian wavered his gun at Kirk. "But where's the fun in killing him first. I want him to suffer."

"We could kill his friends first in front of him." Ben suggested.

"Okay, we'll start with the older one." They turned to McCoy. The doctor gulped, but just glared hatefully as Ben pulled back the trigger. McCoy thought about Jim and Spock. Well, they'd have to find his body. Damn Guardian.

Out of the corner of his eye, McCoy saw a break of movement. The sound of the gun firing went off in his ear, and McCoy was suddenly hurled to the floor by two hands. He heard Hart let out a cry as Kirk was shot in McCoy's place.

McCoy watched the Major fall to the ground in pain after he pushed McCoy out of the way. Kirk's shoulder was seeping with blood as he lay unconscious on the ground. McCoy got up to rush to his aid, but was stopped as another gun pressed against his head.

McCoy saw the finger on the trigger that would end his life begin to pull.

A familiar bright blue flash suddenly lit up the room in McCoy's eyes. As if on cue, the three Confederate soldiers collapsed to the ground, unconscious. The CMO broke into a huge grin as he turned his gaze to see the familiar face in the doorway. "Spock!" McCoy hoped up off the ground and embraced the Vulcan in an affectionate bear hug.

Spock felt his face flush bright green at the doctor's contact. "Dr. McCoy, would you please restrain yourself." He felt the CMO retract himself.

McCoy looked up at Spock in embarrassment. "Um…right. Sorry, Spock." He realized what he'd just done. He truly did like the Vulcan with a deep friendship, but he'd rather die than admit it to the First Officer. "It's about time you got here, dammit!" However, McCoy saw that Spock's dark brown eyes were fixed on something behind him. The CMO turned to see Sarah Hart, staring at them, wide-eyed with fear.

Hart backed into the wall. "W-who's t-that?" Her eyes were locked on Spock's phaser, which was still clutched in his hand.

McCoy tried to calm her down. Spock was dressed as a Union soldier, but still looked alien. And the phaser didn't exactly help the situation. "Um, this is-."

Another phaser blast shot out and Hart crumpled to the floor along with the others. McCoy flared. "Why'd you do that, Spock!"

"I found it more adequate than whatever excuse you might've come up with." Spock said.

"Humph," McCoy grunted in annoyance at the insult. McCoy glanced back at Hart, who was breathing softly on the ground. That's when McCoy remembered. Major Kirk! The Union soldier was still unconscious on the ground, but his bullet wound was becoming worse by the second. Spock was heading for the door. "Wait, Spock." McCoy called. "This man needs medical help."

McCoy started to bend down to aid Kirk when Spock said, "Doctor, we do not have the time."

McCoy snorted in response as he took Kirk's pulse. "We have the Guardian and you're complaining about time."

Spock raised an eyebrow at the comment. "That is essentially correct, Doctor. However, we do not know if anyone else will be coming to this location. Therefore, we do not have the time to worry about a man from the past."

Spock started out the door, hoping that McCoy would put aside his stubbornness and follow him. He heard McCoy quietly say from behind him, "He's a Kirk."

The Vulcan turned at the comment and raised both eyebrows. "Where is he from?" He asked, bluntly.

"New York," McCoy answered, confused at the question.

Spock would've cussed if we're human. He sighed slightly as McCoy gave the man a hypo, probably to help the man cope with the pain. McCoy locked eyes with him. "Doctor, the chances of him descending down to our Kirk are 1,486-."

McCoy's pale blue eyes blazed with a challenge of will. "Spock, do you really want to take that chance?"


	7. Chapter 7

After transporting to the _Enterprise_ from the planet, McCoy had gone straight to his cabin. As he passed down the hallways, McCoy noticed all the strange looks he was getting. What the Hell are they staring at? McCoy thought. He was tempted to ask one of them, but decided not to. He had more important things to do at the moment.

McCoy sat quietly in his cabin, his gazed fixed on his computer screen. It was good to be home. He'd managed to save Kirk, and miraculously, the Major did not have to have his arm cut off. During the Civil War, a different type of bullet was used. Unfortunately, the bullet shattered your bones, instead of just breaking them. If you were hit with one, it most likely shattered you bone into pieces. Since there was no way to fix a shattered bone, you most likely had to have it sawed off. "I'll be damned." McCoy whistled in amazement at his computer. The CMO had been looking up information about a few people since his time being stuck in the Civil War. "I really am his descendent." McCoy had just typed in and found the data for a Captain Samuel McCoy from Savannah, Georgia.

He could never be sure what happened to the three Confederate Officers. They were probably taken to a Northern POW camp, McCoy had concluded. He and Spock had tied the three attackers up and left them for Major Kirk to handle.

McCoy typed in the next name and waited for the data to appear on the screen. Elias Clarke, 16th Louisiana, Infantry. Age Enlisted: 18. Death: Unknown. Entered: Private. Exited: Private. McCoy felt sorrow at the young man's life, but continued.

He typed in the next name. He watched the information appear on the screen. Phillip Walker, 34th Texas, Infantry. Age Entered: 41. Death: July 5, 1864. Killed In Action. Entered: Private. Exited: Captain. McCoy sighed. He really liked the Texan.

McCoy smiled as he typed in the new name. He hoped to Hell that the man didn't die later in the war. William, Kirk, 54th New York, Calvary. Age Enlisted: 28. Death: January 12th 1883, Ohio. McCoy grinned, he had lived. Entered: Lieutenant. Exited: Colonel. McCoy scrolled down to see any family information. Parents: Abraham and Louis Kirk. Married: Sarah Hart. Kids: 6: Ralph Kirk, Ivan Kirk, Henry Kirk, Peter Kirk, Elizabeth Kirk, And Kathryn Kirk. McCoy's eyes widened as he read the name of the wife. Sarah Hart! McCoy smiled, they did make a cute couple. He chuckled.

The CMO then typed in both William Kirk and James Kirk. "Let's see what we get here," he said to himself. A family tree appeared on the screen. They were related, but James Kirk was not a direct descendent from William Kirk, as he had been with Samuel McCoy. However, McCoy grinned at the fact that William Kirk's brother was the direct descendent of his Kirk.

The buzzer to his cabin went off and McCoy said, "Come in." He wasn't surprised to see Jim Kirk enter. "What's that?" McCoy asked, noticing the two objects in his Captain's hands.

"Drinks, Bones, what else." Kirk replied with a smug grin on his face.

"Isn't that normally my job?" McCoy asked, amused.

"Well," Kirk said, thoughtfully. "Since, you were stuck in the past, someone had to do it." He handed a drink to his older friend. He noticed the screen. "What're you doing?"

"Just looking up some old friends," McCoy said. The CMO made a sour face.

"What, Bones?" Kirk asked, wondering what he'd done.

"How come Spock came instead of you?"

"Sorry, Bones. We were right by the Romulan Neutral Zone; one of us had to stay."

"Come on, Jim. I was stuck during the Civil War. Spock wasn't exactly the smartest candidate to come back and find me." McCoy took a sip of the drink. He felt the burning liquid roll down his throat. "That green-blooded Vulcan stood out like a sore thumb, even with the Union uniform."

Kirk looked at his friend and pondered over an answer. "He wanted to get you back as much as I wanted to."

McCoy clamed up. He really did like Spock. He took another sip and winced. "What, Bones? It's just Saurian Brandy."

The older man grinned like a little kid. "Yeah, I know. You think the Food Synthesizer can whip up some special coffee?"

"What did you have in-?" Kirk was interrupted by the sound of the door opening to allow another visitor to enter. "Oh, hey, Spock."

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow at McCoy. "What?" McCoy asked. He glanced down for the first time, noticing that he still had on Elias Clarke's Confederate uniform for the first time. "Oh," he said in acknowledgement. "That explains the funny looks I got in the corridor." McCoy shrugged. "Guess I'll keep it for a souvenir."

"Souvenir?" Spock questioned.

"Something to remember an event…Oh, why do I even bother anymore." McCoy sighed in annoyance, not noticing Spock's slight smile of satisfaction. "What do you want Spock?"

"Doctor, I came with a question, which I found you might have the answer to?"

"Really." This aroused McCoy's interest. "You need me to answer something for you? This ought 'a be good." McCoy took another sip as he waited for Spock to continue. He noted the snickering grin on his Captain's face.

"What is this, Hatfield/McCoy Feud?"


End file.
